


cat's cradle with my heartstrings

by theultimatenerd713



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Wire Play, interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 05:40:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15942911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theultimatenerd713/pseuds/theultimatenerd713
Summary: Simon doesn’t know what compels Markus to do this, but hey, he isn’t exactly complaining. Trailing his fingers over Simon’s neck as they depart Jericho. Letting his hand rest there, barely out of sight as they speak to President Warren with the other leaders of Jericho. It’s annoyingly pleasurable, for such a small movement. He's trying to do work, but it's hard to focus when there's a palm at your neck.





	cat's cradle with my heartstrings

**Author's Note:**

> here have a new fic cause i can't finish my old ones, i'll try to update all of them pretty soon 
> 
> but here have some neckport AU where markus is oblivious and simon just wants to get off

Simon doesn’t know what compels Markus to do this, but hey, he isn’t exactly complaining.

 

Trailing his fingers over Simon’s neck as they depart Jericho. Letting his hand rest there, barely out of sight as they speak to President Warren with the other leaders of Jericho. Simon could barely think, barely focus enough to explain his part of the program to the President. It’s not like he could explain this to Markus in front of her, either. He would be embarrassed for life, and Warren would find out more than she ever wanted to know about their extra functions.

 

Rubbing his fingers over the barely visible ridge at the base of Simon’s skull plate, his arms draped across the back of his couch as they have a movie night in the mansion. Now, slowly dragging a thumb over the junction where his neck meets his shoulder while he’s writing a proposal, propped up next to North and Josh. 

 

It’s maddening, and annoyingly pleasurable for such a small movement. There’s no way Markus misses the way Simon leans into it, before he realizes and manages to pull back at the last second. It’s embarrassingly obvious. At least, it is to Simon. He’s always been the most observant of the lot, though, so it’s not saying much. 

 

He’s trying (keyword, trying) to do some of his own diplomatic work between the separate states, eyes closed and interfacing with the communications tablet on his lap. It’s only been a year since the revolution, and even though the other state governments were supposed to follow in Michigan’s footsteps, the more conservative states were resistant to change, even under federal pressure. 

 

Simon’s helping to change that, acting as Jericho’s ambassador to the other cities while Josh, Markus, and North deal with the White House. But it’s hard to send messages and formulate valid plans when he’s got a palm at his neck, never wavering in its path across his skin and the sensitive ridge there. He always hopes the others won’t notice the way he shivers ever so slightly at the pressure, but he’s relieved it won’t be an issue right now. Simon would combust right there on the couch if any of them noticed his behavior.

 

Josh and North are in stasis, processors exhausted from today’s meeting in city hall, leaning into Markus as they process and recharge. Josh looks noticeably more peaceful than he did this afternoon, the stress normally creasing his brow falling away. North appears calmer, kinder when she’s asleep, and all the more beautiful. Simon understands it’s hard for her to trust anyone enough to go into stasis with them, and his heart swells with warmth. 

 

It’s a comforting sight, but Markus draws Simon’s gaze away. His lower lip is caught between his teeth as he contemplates what to say next, idly tapping his pen against the notepad as he contemplates what to say next. He’s always been fond of using a regular pen and paper rather than compiling his notes in his mind palace, which Simon favors. He supposes it may be due to the amount of paper books and sketches Carl keeps in the mansion.  _ Like father, like son. _ He turns back to his tablet, laying his fingers back on the tablet’s surface, and starts a new message.

 

**_Chicago City Hall_ **

_ Good afternoon.  _

_ I am Simon, one of the numerous members of the Detroit-based android rights organization Jericho. You may have noticed our involvement in securing the freedom of all androids, especially our leader Markus.  _

 

_ We understand that the androids in Chicago have found it particularly difficult to adjust to their newfound freedom, and that more humans than not are opposed to their existence as free individuals. However, as the President has dictated, all androids have the right- _

 

Simon freezes as the fingers on his neck suddenly begin to press a little harder, and his eyes narrow to Markus. He doesn’t seem to have noticed he’s even doing it, brow furrowed as he falls deeper into thought. He had seen Markus do something similar with a small foam ball North keeps on the desk, prodding and kneading at it as he gazed over the snowy Detroit skyline from Carl’s expansive studio windows. His hands are always occupied these days, maybe another side effect of constantly taking care of Carl. 

 

While Simon appreciates the pressure, it’s a little weird to be someone’s tension ball, and it would not help if Markus’s unconscious strength happened to dent his chassis. It would not show through the nanobots of his skin, but it would be incredibly uncomfortable to have constant pressure there, especially in the place Markus’s fingers always seemed to rest.

 

He tries to shift away, but then Markus’s index hits something. His fingernail slips in, intruding for the briefest second.

 

A small crack, just where his hairline meets his neck. For a split second, the crack glows blue, and Simon  _ feels _ it, feels the energy thrum just under his skin. 

 

His fingers jolt, and suddenly his vision is filled with white heat, lightening jumping from his fingertips to the tablet surface. In an instant his systems are overloaded, and he’s gasping, trying to fill his synthetic lungs in an effort to cool his frame. 

 

“Simon?? SIMON!”

 

He’s…… shaking, his body seizing on the floor.  _ did i f͎͙̲̺̼̗ͅa̟̼l͓̟͇̲̩l̲̹̟̹͠ͅl̝̠̦l̻͕̩̠ ̡̬͚̞d̖͚̭͘o̵̭w̡ẉ͞w̭͚͎̝͇̺w̞͙w̸̳͕͔̰͍̲̻n̡͙͙̭n̯n̹̣̕n̟̠̣̳̲̳n͠n͈͕̘̬̺n  _ He chokes, shuddering at the cool hands holding him down as he writhes, pain and pleasure ( _??? _ ) fighting each other off. It’s nothing like he’s ever experienced, not even when he was shot and his system attempted the repair protocol without the proper biocomponents. He feels like he’s dying, but it feels more real, more  _ human _ despite the wholly mechanical aspect. 

 

Simon tries to speak, but all that comes out is warped static, followed by the whine of machinery as his voice box shuts down, the sound of his system seeping in. 

 

He manages to send the stasis command just before he reaches critical temperature, and his body shudd͟ers to a stop, LED spinning, spinning, spinning red. His mouth hangs open, system releasing warm air through the opening as he finally begins to cool down.


End file.
